


a legacy of character and faith

by merrywil



Series: a legacy of character and faith [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 11:23:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: Sometimes, history repeats itself.  A young initiate at Kamar-Taj learns a lesson from a stranger.





	a legacy of character and faith

**Author's Note:**

> When Stephen meets Billy in the New Avengers, the poor guy (Stephen, that is) is not really in the best frame of mind. I kind of wanted to write a happier first meeting, which takes place quite a number of years after IW/Endgame in the MCU. Billy is a little more of a scholar than a geek in this story, although he has still had vaguely touched upon past troubles. I stole the mentioned-in-passing bridge scene from Wong and Stephen’s meeting in the animated movie, so **warning** very, very brief reference to thoughts of suicide. There will be a Wongrange snippet/sequel, but this is gen.

When Billy Kaplan was a young boy, he loved reading. He loved his local comic book store, of course. He spent many muggy summer afternoons curled spellbound on the stoop, nose buried in the latest issue purchased with money from feeding his neighbor’s cats, or sweeping their sidewalk.

But his love of reading extended to more serious pursuits as well. It made school easy, at least the academic parts. The library was nearly as much a refuge as his books, and he knew his parents had hoped his grades and love of writing might translate into a well-respected career.

As Billy strode down the dusty cobblestones of a street in Kathmandu, he had to laugh to himself at the irony of how the universe worked. His younger self had certainly enjoyed reading about far-off places and perilous exploits, but had no real plans for such adventures. Yet here he was, weaving his way past street vendors and carts and madly-dashing bicycles, the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas visible over the city skyline. 

He’d needed to get out of the compound, take a walk to clear his head. The mystic arts were everything he could have hoped to learn, if he’d ever thought about the possibility of magic truly existing. And Kamar-Taj had given him, like most of its residents, a second chance when things were bleakest, when he was considering whether ending everything was the best choice.

But although things were looking up, the demons of self-doubt were still lurking. Today, they’d come roaring back with a vengeance. Nothing truly significant had happened. He’d been working on a casting with the other novices. But the usual fluid ease with which he mastered new material hadn’t come today. He’d seemed to feel the other students’ eyes boring into his back, and hear their furtive whispers. All of his old insecurities had risen, and after the class had been dismissed, he had fled.

Billy missed his parents, and his friends. He missed the familiar thrum of New York traffic, and the creature comforts of his childhood home. Starting over, in a new place with only unfamiliar faces, was terrifying. But at the same time, he was afraid to go back. Afraid to return, with his tail between his legs and nothing to show for the apparent flight of fancy that had led him to Nepal, of all places. His parents and teachers had barely understood when he’d wanted to take a year off from college, especially not after he’d already landed an internship with one of the city papers.

With a start, Billy realized that he’d walked for long enough that he found himself in an unfamiliar section of the city. He slowed his pace. The sun was starting to dip towards the edge of the mountain valley, although there were still a few hours before night properly fell. Scavenging some coins from his pockets, Billy stopped to buy a handful of fruit at a street corner. He had missed lunch, and dinner would be long over before he found his way back to the compound.

With a glance at the sun, Billy set out on what he hoped would be a slightly more direct route back to Kamar-Taj. But his feet were beginning to ache, and his stomach gurgled protestingly. Spying a low wall along the edge of one of the larger and more open thoroughfares, he settled gratefully onto the sun-warmed bricks.

The juices of the tangerine burst onto his tongue, sweet and tangy. Billy hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d started to eat. Prying free another slice, he glanced around as he popped it into his mouth.

And met the curious stare of the old man sitting a few feet away on the wall’s reddish clay bricks. Billy might have continued his survey without stopping, had it not been obvious that this man, like Billy, was not a native denizen of Kathmandu. His clothes were an interesting jumble of Eastern and Western garb, although Billy had the sense that he had lived in Nepal long enough that he no longer carried the wide-eyed awkwardness of a newcomer. 

Billy’s initial, momentary impression had been that the stranger was elderly, but on closer inspection he could not say exactly how old the man was. Certainly there were broad strokes of silver hair at each of his temples, and some silver peppered through his short beard. He was thin to the point of frailty. But mostly it was a sense of timelessness, of hard-won wisdom, that lent the man a sense of great age.

On impulse, Billy held out a second, unblemished tangerine. “Would you like some fruit, sir?”

The man did not seem startled, but certainly pleased. The fine creases at the corners of his eyes wrinkled, as he smiled and slightly raised both hands. “That would be appreciated, but alas, that particular fruit is beyond my skill.”

Billy registered absentmindedly that the stranger spoke English with an American accent. But his focus was on the fine tremors that shook the man’s long fingers, on the joints swollen and slightly bent with arthritis. Billy felt his face heat with shame.

“I’m, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see. Um, here, I have a pear, instead?” He held out the fruit, hoping that the stranger would accept it, if only to ease Billy’s own mortification.

And the man did, cradling the fruit carefully as he inclined his head in thanks. For a moment, they sat in silence, enjoying the fruit and the sun’s warmth. As Billy finished his tangerine, swiping his hands self-consciously and somewhat futilely against his novice’s robes, the stranger spoke.

“Sit a minute, young man, before you hurry off. I would repay your gift.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t need any money. It was my pleasure.”

“That is fortunate, as I do not have any money.” That was not uncommon in Kathmandu, as in any major city. Billy had wondered in passing if the old man was homeless. “But perhaps I can repay you in another way, if you can spare me a few minutes.”

Billy really did need to be getting back. Although there was not a curfew precisely, unplanned absences and late nights were generally frowned upon as counterproductive to building self-discipline. But a few minutes would probably not hurt, so he shrugged and remained seated.

The man smiled. “Good. I wanted to tell you a story, a very old one. Perhaps it will be of use to you.”

“Once, there was an elephant. She lived in the forest, until one day she was seen by a king. The king instructed his troops to capture her, and take her to his trainers. She lived in the king’s gardens, with very little food and harsh beatings whenever she did not do as the trainers instructed. Until one day, she escaped, and ran far off into the mountains. The king forgot about her, but she did not forget about the king. She lived her life in fear, jumping at the smallest shadow or sound, and never seeking out a new herd. She scarcely even ate the abundance of greenery that surrounded her. Until one day, a forest-sprite spoke to her. The sprite said, ‘Let go your fear. You are not in the palace garden any longer, but are now free.’”

Billy rolled the last tangerine, the one the stranger had declined, from palm to palm. It was a nice story. Sensing that the other had finished, Billy looked up to find the stranger’s gaze again directed towards him, a kind smile lighting the man’s eyes.

“Um, thank you very much, for the story. I really do have to be getting back now.”

“Young man, I think you have heard, but you did not listen. You are caught up in the mundane, shackled to your base emotions. If you run away again, you’ll always keep running from your fears.”

“I’m not afraid.” Billy bristled slightly. He had come all the way to Kathmandu, and then only on the words of a man who appeared to him one desperate night, when he was sitting on another wall on a bridge in Manhattan. Was that the act of someone who was afraid? And how did this man know anything about him, anyway?

“You’re lying, but sometimes the best way to make something a truth is by stating it.” The stranger’s tone was without criticism. “Here. Take my hand, and I’ll show you just how insignificant these fears of yours truly are.”

Billy stared at the tremoring fingers that hovered in the air between them. This was insanity. He needed to get back to Kamar-Taj. Needed to decide whether he’d pack his bags and return to New York, to the rote albeit miserable stability of his old existence.

The other waited, his face a study in patience. Billy had the sudden and unshakeable sense that he could just get up and walk away. The old man would not stop him. And Billy could sit here and wait forever, and likewise the man would sit here as well, arm eternally outstretched to bridge the space between them.

Billy took a deep breath. Then, he reached out, and let his fingers brush gently against the stranger’s shaky digits.

And the world fell away beneath them. Galaxies spiralled overhead, then he was funnelled through the head of a pin to watch electrons orbit in their place. A billion lives, a million suns, a hundred thousand universes flipped past like the pages of an old rolodex. Forces older than time bayed in the darkness, and the light surged to drive them back.

Through it all, Billy felt a steadfast grip around his wrist, weak but unwavering. Otherwise he would have been completely unanchored, and alone. As the Multiverse unfolded like a blossom before him, he heard the old man’s voice, deep and echoing.

“Billy, you are afraid. Afraid of not being accepted for who you are, although there is no shame in that. Afraid of not being good enough. But acceptance does not matter, beyond finding those friends and family who will love you for being yourself. You will never be infallible, and there will always be others who surpass you. None of that matters, so long as you always strive to become and be your best. And you have so much potential.”

Then, with a jolt, Billy was back in his body. A bicycle jingled as it whizzed behind them, and a car horn blared. The sun had not moved from its place on the horizon.

“Oh my God, what just happened?” Billy felt his heart racing, and he wheezed as if he had just run a marathon.

But before the old man could speak, another voice rang out. “Stephen!”

Billy whipped around, scanning the sidewalk behind the low brick wall. He knew that voice, had heard it call out instructions more than once during his lessons. Had first heard it what seemed like a lifetime ago, that desperate night. “Master Wong! What are you doing here?”

Wong raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Looking for a wayward novice. I see you found him, Stephen.”

“Actually, I just stopped here to take a break, and this gentleman and I were talking. And then I must have fallen asleep?” Billy trailed off, images of stars brighter than any he had seen in the Earth’s sky filling his mind.

The stranger--Stephen, as Billy put two and two together--snorted in amusement. “Stop trying to force the world into a trite little box. It won’t fit. Wong, a little help here?”

Billy stared at the familiarity, but Master Wong seemed unphased. He placed a hand under the other man’s elbow, helping him off the wall and to his feet. There was a shimmer, and a flash of scarlet. 

Then the stranger stood next to Master Wong dressed in the robes of a disciple or master, long red cloak cascading behind him. His hands were still wracked with tremors and it still looked as though a stiff breeze might blow him over. But it was as if a veil had been lifted, and there was no mistaking the aura of power that surrounded him. Billy squinted suspiciously. And was his cloak moving on its own?

The man inclined his head in greeting. “Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, at your service. We haven’t officially met, but I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Wong and the other masters.”

“So, that wasn’t just a dream? That was real?” Billy’s thoughts were spinning in circles, and he felt as though his world had been turned completely upside down. Which, in a way, it had. How significant could any of his worries be, when such endless possibilities existed?

Stephen--Master Strange--shrugged. “Who is to say what is real? But as real as you and I certainly. And don’t be too hard on yourself. Humans are very good at putting their heads down and trudging along, bemoaning their own lot and never looking any further than what’s in front of their noses. Even without magic, there is much more to see than that.”

Billy nodded absently, then looked up as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. “You have a good heart, Billy. You have much to learn, but don’t let your fears keep you chained. You’re not in the king’s garden anymore.”

And as Billy followed the two masters through a portal into Kamar-Taj’s courtyard, he did feel, if not free, much lighter and less afraid than in a very long time. Perhaps tonight he would revisit today’s lesson, and leave his bags unpacked.

FINIS


End file.
